


Lost

by MissNMikaelson



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, No Humanity Elena Gilbert, The Cure, background klaroline, past delena, past stelena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29632509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNMikaelson/pseuds/MissNMikaelson
Summary: She has no words to describe the freedom of abandoned humanity. All she knows is she’s never going back to the way things used to be. No sir… never. Never, ever ever. Never!
Relationships: Caroline Forbes & Elena Gilbert, Elena Gilbert & Elijah Mikaelson, Elena Gilbert & Kol Mikaelson, Elena Gilbert & Rebekah Mikaelson, Elena Gilbert/Elijah Mikaelson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own TVD or TO.
> 
> Though Elejah and Klaroline are tagged as couples in this it's not until the very end. The real story is between Elena and her humanity.

"Mutual use?" Elena raises one eyebrow. If she had still been in touch with her emotions she might have scoffed derisively to cover the depth of hurt no part of her mind felt prepared to examine. As it stands she can only manage long sighs that border precariously on the edge of disappointment.

She wishes she could rely on the less dangerous scoff.

"Please! You fell for her trap just like every one of those idiots." She waves in a vague motion meant to incapsulate the entire town.

"You underestimate me, Elena." He slides a hand into his trouser pocket.

She suspects he was one of those kids that could never sit still because he always has to fiddle with something, and when there is nothing left to touch his hands retreat to his pockets.

He likes to talk with his hands too; the one she can see moves to illustrate his words and further prove her point.

"I know who she is. I know what she's done."

Everybody always falls head first for Katherine's schemes be they human, werewolf, vampire or witch. Her ancestor possesses a talent for manipulation that gets everyone bending over backwards to give her exactly what she wants. And the one thing she wants more than anything is freedom from Klaus' tyranny.

Katherine has clearly played with Elijah's emotions to dupe him into helping her.

She thought the noble brother possessed more sense.

"And you think she's changed?" She paces away, tells herself not to do it, but spins on her heels and raises her arms anyway. "She's playing you. She lied to you Elijah."

A small alarm blares in the back of her mind, somewhere in the general vicinity of the switch.

It sounds suspiciously like a security warning.

Why is she pushing him to see the truth?

She has no reason to care.

She doesn't care about anything.

"She didn't lie to me about your transformation." He steps into her personal space and stills, focusing the entirety of his attention on her. "You're not just a vampire though, are you?"

She shrugs, attempting to lower her gaze but unable to look away. Elijah is enigmatic at the best of times, but when he looks at her with everything he has she can't move.

She thinks it should be illegal to look at people like that.

"There's something else. You … you're not yourself."

Days ago she might have blushed, but her impassivity holds fast.

She doesn't feel anything.

"You've abandoned your emotions."

He always could read her.

"Why?"

"My brother's dead; your girlfriend killed him." Her blunt answer halts his breath and she almost frowns. "You didn't know?"

His eyes grow distant as betrayal turns down the corners of his mouth. In the blink of an eye he transforms into something closer to the hardened man she first met.

"Of course you didn't," she scoffs, managing it well the second time. It helps that Katherine's omission is in no way a surprise.

"She lied."

"I hate to say I told you so, but…" she pauses to lean forward and widen her eyes. "Duh."

Stefan, Damon, hell, maybe even Klaus, and she would have run then, leaving her companion gaping after her, but Elijah will follow her to the ends of the earth; assuming she makes it out of Willoughby before he catches up. The Original who values her former compassion will trail after her until he makes her remember it too… unless she obliterates his hope first.

The only problem is she's not entirely sure her current state will allow her to break him.

Instead of running she turns around and slides down the bricks, perches on the low step, wraps her arms around her knees and watches him pace, coming to terms with his most recent revelations.

* * *

He glares at the empty fish tank, feeling his anger rise higher with each bubble of air the filtration system displaces.

Rebekah lays unconscious by his knees.

Damon climbs to his feet.

"Did you even try to stop her?" He swallows the bitter taste in his mouth.

"You forgot the part where I was bobbing for boxes in vervain water," Damon gripes, slapping the side of the tank as he passes it.

"All you had to do was stall her."

"She's an Original," he rolls his eyes. "What was I supposed to do: distract her with a pony?"

"You let her take it, didn't you?" His fingernails dig into his palms.

"Bobbing for boxes in vervain water!" Damon waves at the fish tank.

Stefan ignores him as if he hadn't heard.

"You were never on my side. Now Elena will be a vampire for the rest of her life, just like you wanted. Except she's not Elena anymore, is she?"

Rebekah gasps awake, cutting off any response Damon could come up with. She sits up on the sofa with bright eyes and open mouth, ignoring her companions in favour of everything she can no longer hear.

Damon strides towards the bookshelf before he can enact revenge for her stunt that left Elena in her broken state and out of love with him.

What good was immortality without her affections?

At least human Elena would want him, and not because of a sire bond.

He moves before he can strangle Rebekah and make a worse enemy of her remaining brothers.

 _Saint_ Stefan lowers himself onto the coffee table and clasps his hands. Resting his elbows on his knees he leans forward.

The gentle motion draws her eyes up.

"How do you feel?"

Damon grinds his teeth. His hand runs over the shelf, touching worn books, ghosting over an enamel statue and then picking up a letter opener.

"I feel…" Rebekah begins in a breathless voice, pausing to take stock of her body. "I feel good. I feel great."

He can hear the damn smile in her voice.

"I feel alive."

 _To hell with it,_ he thought, _I'll just blame Katherine; if she doesn't screw her way out of trouble it'll be two birds with one stone._ Maybe Klaus will finally kill her.

"Slight problem with being alive," he snarks, turning as he speaks, "I can kill you."

Damon releases the letter opener. It gleams, turning end over end on the deadly journey that no human had a prayer of stopping. He is ready to toss up his arms in victory, cheering from the rooftops in a voice for the world to hear: 'the bitch is dead'.

He's ready.

He's eager.

He's not prepared for the letter opener to freeze in midair, or for Rebekah to cast him a look of disdain across the line of his chosen weapon.

She squares her shoulders, drapes herself in the superiority and privilege that comes with her age. She wears the confidence of an Original vampire, despite no longer being one.

"Have you forgotten who I am?" She sneers, rising to her feet. Her full height of 5'6" fills the room. "Let me remind that I am Rebekah bloody Mikaelson, daughter of the Original witch, and you…"

She steps around the opener, managing to tower over him in defiance of the additional three inches he holds. Her eyes slide over him, unimpressed, from head to toe.

"You are an insolent child, throwing a tantrum because you've lost your favourite toy. It's no wonder Elena doesn't want you."

"Don't talk about Elena like you know her," Damon growls, mouth firm.

"I've spent days with her, seeing exactly who she is without being torn between the two of you." Her eyes dart fast to Stefan and then back. "You treat her like some precious toy and have the gall to be upset when she decides she's had enough of your kid gloves and cuts the puppet strings. She is neither precious, nor an innocent girl. She's not a porcelain skinned princess locked in an ivory tower for the pair of you to save and fight over."

Damon clenches his fists.

"We needed the cure to bring back her humanity, Bekah."

She rolls her eyes.

"You think you can fix her, don't you?"

The brothers share a look over her head. She suspects their nods occur in unison, similar to their verbal affirmations.

"You can't fix her, you idiots. Elena is not broken, she's not a toy, and she's not made of glass. She can't go back to being your fragile little human pet."

She takes a deep breath and rocks back on her heels.

"She's a vampire now, and more importantly a woman. She will find her way in this world without you and be better off for it."

With that she spins on her heel and strides from the house.

After a beat Stefan stands, wiping his hands on his pants. "We need to find Elena. If we can't make her human we can at least make her feel."

* * *

He paces the alley with casual steps: the pace of a man before a woman, conscious that both possess all the time in the world.

His patience dictates the length of time he can carry-on: hours, days, decades. He might spend years at that steady pace until she hears him; until she listens.

 _Not might,_ she observes the set of his mouth, _will._

The deliberate set of his shoulders and the power concealed in his stride whisper to Elena about the true danger of her situation. Elijah Mikaelson will utilize every ounce of his influence to resurrect the girl who died with her brother.

The oldest vampire in the world possesses power beyond her wildest dreams.

She knows she should run, but he is Elijah and she is Elena. And more than that she remains curious about his tactics.

"I know what it feels like to lose a brother."

 _Empathy,_ she presses her lips together, rolling her eyes as she turns her shoulders away. _Typical… disappointing._

"And I'm sorry for the pain that led to this. I…"

"You're making this sound like my choice," she casts him a wry smile as she rises, cutting him off. She is going to stay and talk because he is Elijah and running is a colossally stupid idea, but he doesn't get to yammer on about them. She doesn't want to think about how Finn was the first casualty of war, or about Kol's unnecessary demise, nor will she allow Jeremy to darken any part of her mind.

Elijah can talk about anything else, but not them.

"Sometimes it can feel like grief makes the choice for you," he concedes, bracing a shoulder against the rough brick.

"You don't know anything about me, unsurprising," she sighs, with emotions it might sound sad or snide, or rife with accusation, "since you've been busy with Katherine. You don't know anything; you probably haven't even looked in my direction."

His mouth pops open to explain his absence, but she doesn't need his words. She stopped being human and he ceased to care: it's as simple as that.

"I didn't choose this, Elijah," she continues, voice hollow as she motions to her face. "Maybe you didn't hear about my sire bond."

"Elena," his eyes widen, flooding with horror.

She thinks of her tears and soul wracking sobs.

"I was drowning, and rather than offer comfort Damon chose this," she gestures to her impassive face again. "He forced his decision on me like he always does, and now he and Stefan are desperate to fix me. They think the human they loved is still in here somewhere."

"You can't blame them for having hope, Elena," he sighs, swallows.

"You're just as bad as them," she shakes her head, "searching for that sweet little peasant girl you fell in love with. Newsflash: she's dead, and has been for centuries."

"Do you not think that occurred to me?" He arches an eyebrow. "What kind of man would I be if I didn't try to find Katerina under the Katherine facade? Or you behind this wall you've erected?"

"A sensible one," she steps toward him, tipping her head up. "You can't find _Katerina_ any more than Damon and Stefan can fix me."

"Of course they can't fix you," he scoffs at the idea, "you're not broken Elena; you're lost."

He and Rebekah seem the only ones capable of seeing her, but that doesn't make him correct on all counts.

"I am not lost," she crosses her arms and spins.

"You are," Elijah reasons, catching her elbow. His broad chest brushes her shoulders, anchoring her to his body. The gentle tone comes millimetres from her ear. "You are lost. I only hope one day you find your way back to yourself."

Warm, strong, and every bit a man who by all accounts cares for her, or at the damn least had at one point; with emotions and that pesky little crush the physical contact might affect her on a deeper level. Emotionless, her tongue remains untied.

"If I turn it back on I go back to being that helpless girl. And I'm done being some pawn for everyone to push around. I won't go back to Damon and Stefan's pedestal so they can dictate the rest of my life. It's my life, and nobody else is going to tell me how to live it."

"Careful, Elena," her hair tickles her ear, "you almost sound angry."

 _Pushing buttons,_ her eyes widen, _marginally impressive._

"I don't care," she turns, momentarily faltering when she realizes how close they stand. Her lips tingle.

He smirks, seeing her eyes fall to his mouth.

"Once the cure is out of the picture, I'm gone," she exhales looking up.

"I see," he nods, cupping her elbows. "Might I propose something Elena?"

"Why? What makes you think I'll listen to you?"

He chuckles, eyes alight with amusement.

"A number of reasons. One, you were raised to be polite. Two, despite my ability to do so I have not forcefully returned your emotions. And three," he touches the tips of his fingers to her cheek, "it has been sometime since we struck a bargain, and, like me, I suspect you miss our deals."

She tilts her head, feels her eyebrows raise and half leans into him before correcting the action and shifting back on her heels to place an extra inch of space between their bodies.

"You want to make a deal?"

He must hear the true question in her voice.

"Nobody can outrun their humanity forever…"

"Wanna bet?" She smirks.

"You would lose," his brows lower, "I have been around a lot longer than you, Elena. Eventually something will happen to trigger the return of your emotions, or you'll go centuries feeling nothing before figuring out that the switch does not truly exist. I would like nothing more than for you to be spared the pain I know will come to you."

"You want to save me pain?" She scoffs. "Where was that attitude when you betrayed me at the ritual, or left me underground with your sister?"

"I am not without flaws," his thumbs press into the soft skin of her inner elbows. "I have done things I abhor in the name of saving my family, actions that at times have left me feeling physically sick. Perhaps I was wrong to assume you understood my stance."

"I never said I didn't understand you Elijah. I just don't believe that you want to spare me pain." After Finn and Kol she expected he wanted to cause her nothing but pain. Of course he might be looking beyond the obvious and rightfully placing the blame for his younger brother on the sire bond and therefore Damon.

"I wish to spare you pain Elena," he stares unblinkingly into her eyes, speaking so earnestly she can't help but believe him; had she not been sneaking vervain the last few days she might have suspected compulsion. "It would be a shame if the world lost a soul as compassionate at yours."

She draws a slow breath into her lungs and exhales, summoning to the forefront of her mind a letter penned in an ancient hand.

"'Your compassion is a gift Elena'", she quotes, tilting her head. "I remember reading that in a letter once."

"The writer sounds positively inspired," the corner of his mouth quirks up. "I'm sure he meant what he wrote."

"I'm sure he did," she nods, expression hardening around the eyes. "And it felt good to watch that letter burn, along with my old life and along with Jeremy's body."

Shock ripples through him, but rather than release her arms as she thought he would he spins her to the side. She hears a loud crack and take stock of her body, half expecting the sound to have come from one of her bones. Except nothing hurts, and by the time she turns it's to find Elijah shaking his head over Katherine's body.

"What did you do that for?" She crouches, inspecting the awkward angle of her doppelgänger's neck.

"We're not through," he replies, holding out a hand to help her up. "You and I have some unfinished business."

 _Deals,_ she accepts the unneeded aid, _should have seen that one coming._

"I'll listen," she sighs, keeping her eyes on Katherine. Can she get away with trodding on her ancestor's face? Maybe she can crush a few fingers underfoot. "That doesn't mean I'll accept."

"I think you will."

It's the calm assurance in his voice that draws her eyes back to him.

"You don't want to turn into her," he slips his hands into his pockets and casually leans against the cool bricks, "and if you run with the Salvatore's on your heels, eventually, between glances over your shoulder, you'll start to change. When you begin to feel again you won't like the person you see in the mirror."

"I evaded my father for the better part of a millennia. In that time I became adept at laying false trails."

"I see," she hums, "and what do I have to do in exchange?" The only bargaining chip in her arsenal had been her doppelgänger blood, but _he_ had never desired it; even if he had that blood is useless now.

"Go," he chuckles in the face of her confusion. "Go and figure out who you want to be now. I shall ensure you're not followed on one condition: you do not kill unless absolutely necessary."

She presses her lips together and tilts her head, searching his face for any sign of deception.

"I have no ulterior motives, Elena," he straightens, reaching one hand out. His knuckles skim the air along her throat, paused above her heart and never crossing the barrier to touch her skin. "One day you'll feel again, and I don't want you standing atop a pile of bodies when it happens."

Her eyes flicker over his face. She chews over her words before speaking.

"I suppose bodies _do_ leave a trail that's easy to follow. How do I know you'll do as you say?" She blinks.

"I suppose you'll have to take my word for it," he chuckles.

She almost smiles, but catches herself.

"How do you know I'll keep up my end?"

"I trust you Elena," he extracts a plain card from his jacket pocket and holds it up between his knuckles, "and I trust you'll keep in touch. One message every couple months so I'm kept abreast of your current state and know where not to lead them."

She takes the black card, flipping it over. Neat letters spells out Elijah Smith above a phone number and email address that he must use primarily for business.

"Do we have a deal?"

She thumbs the corner of the card, and examines each letter. The deal sounds excellent; aside from Katherine's taste in clothes she has no desire to emulate her doppelgänger. And he's right, she'll slowly change until she's as paranoid as her ancestor.

Really, it requires no thought.

"Deal." She places the card in her jacket pocket.

"Wonderful," he nods. "I'll be needing your ring."

"Excuse me?" Her eyes widen, darting to the sunlight on either side of the alley. A single step backwards and she'll be engulfed in it.

"Your ring," he repeats. "It was created by Miss Bennett, and can therefore be tracked by her. Leading the Salvatore's astray will only work until they approach her for help, and because she loves you she'll do as they ask. You can't take the ring with you."

"I can't leave without it." She cradles her right hand. "I'll be a sitting duck here until dark."

"I have no intention of trapping you Elena," he smiles. "Trust me?"

Elena sucks in a breath and chews on her cheeks. She counts his heartbeats, slipping off her ring when she gets to three. It falls into his open palm.

He crouches and lifts Katherine's limp hand, sliding the ring in place on her right ring finger. Then he reaches for her left hand and rises with a silver bracelet.

She feels a modicum of disappointment when Katherine, laying half in the sunlight, doesn't immediately burst into flames. The daylight ring rule doesn't seem to apply to doppelgängers.

He extends the bracelet, snapping it in place.

"Well, isn't this cozy?"

Elena tears her eyes from his gaze, feeling her mouth turn down at the sight of Rebekah. The blonde sags under the weight of her proud shoulders; she leans heavily on the bricks, letting her eyes rake over her brother and down to Katherine.

"I suppose I should have believed her, but I thought you had more sense." Her voice comes out airy: breathless.

"Rebekah?" Elena steps into the light, eyes falling to the Original's trembling hand. "What happened?"

She follows Elena's gaze and clenches her hand, concealing the weakness.

"Damon," she laughs, a note of hysteria on the name, "tried to kill me."

Elijah comes to stand at her side.

"What have you done?" He holds his sister's arm.

"What have I done?" She breaks into a fit of giggles, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

"She's human," Elena tilts her head. "I suppose that means the cure's taken care of." She holds her hands behind her back, glancing toward Elijah. "I think she's in shock, or experiencing an anxiety attack. You might want to lay her down and elevate her legs."

"No," Rebekah sucks in a deep breath, managing to control her laughter but not her compulsive shaking, "no, I'm fine. You… you should run though," she extracts a set of keys from her pocket, "they're close."

She accepts the keys, vanishing after one final look with Elijah.

* * *

"Katherine Pierce?" Rebekah asks, hours later when her tremors are under control before the brunette can wake up. "I thought you were the smart brother."

"You don't have a smart brother," Elijah sighs, leaning against the hood of his car. His ears listen for the first signs of life. "I believed her lies and came to negotiate with her. I'm as stupid as the rest of you."

"Stupider, I'd say," she muses, inspecting her nails, "if I were you I wouldn't have let her go."

"I never let her go, she ran from Niklaus."

"I'm not talking about Katherine." From the corner of her eye she catches his shift. Knowing his eyes are focused on her, she snorts. "You're a bloody idiot."

"What do you want from me?" He flips his wrist around, checks his watch.

"Just admit you never wanted _her,"_ Rebekah slips off her daylight ring, twisting the useless trinket between her fingers. She waits a short eternity for her brother to speak and shakes her head when he doesn't. Whether he realizes it or not his silences speak greater volumes than any words.

"Pathetic."

For a brief instant he stands in a hospital parking lot, squared off against his enraged baby sister.

"I couldn't make her stay, Rebekah," he straightens, snaps back to the present as Katherine's neck heals. "Had I forced her to feel she would resent me for the rest of eternity."

The doppelgänger sits up with a gasp, hands flying to her neck.

"Katerina."

She swings her legs around, spinning on the bench. Her furtive eyes dart from one Mikaelson to the other before scanning the immediate surroundings.

"I wouldn't run," Rebekah braces her hands on the hood of the car. "Even you must know when you're beaten."

"You drank my bargaining chip?" Her eyes narrow.

"Did you expect I wouldn't?" Rebekah raises an eyebrow.

Elijah knows without looking that a smirk stretches across his sister's face.

"I expected Stefan and Damon to talk you out of it, affording me time to reclaim it before it could be used," she snaps. Her eyes fall to her lightened wrist and quickly zero in on a ring. "Where's my bracelet?"

"I can honestly say I have no idea," Elijah approaches her bench. "Though I can understand if the concept of honesty is foreign to you. You killed Jeremy Gilbert."

She exhales a resigned sigh, eyes flitting towards Rebekah. The blonde shakes her head.

"A bombshell I'm sure little Elena just couldn't wait to drop on you. Ironic, since she supposedly doesn't care about anything."

"I care," he lifts his chin.

"He was collateral damage Elijah," she rolls her eyes, "I did what I needed to in order to survive."

"I suppose that's what I am to you as well," he lifts an eyebrow. "Another means of survival?"

"Obviously," Rebekah snorts, reaching for her purse as it vibrates.

"Don't let them get to you," she tilts her head. "Elena and Rebekah hate me; they want you to turn against me."

"I asked you a question."

For a second the world stills and her eyes widen.

"No," she inhales slowly, finding her voice as her heart skips a beat, "of course not. Do you believe me?"

"Every word out of your mouth is a deception," he shakes his head. "That makes this a little easier."

"What…" she cuts off when his hand grasps her chin and finds herself unable to break from his gaze.

"You are Elena Gilbert, and you will run, keeping one step ahead of the Salvatore brothers at all times. Now forget I compelled you and hurry off before they spot you."

She vanishes in a blur of movement.

"That's rather clever of you," Rebekah pulls out her cell phone.

"After everything we put Elena through, creating a false lead is the least I can do."

"Right, that's why you're doing it," she nods, answering the call. "What do you want, Nik?"

_"An update on our search for the elusive cure."_

She exchanges a look with her brother, mulling over how to put things into words. "Let's just say that things have gotten complicated. Why don't you speak to one of those complications? Here."

Elijah cocks an eyebrow, but takes the phone anyway.

"Complication speaking."

_"Big brother, at last you join the fray."_

"Somebody had to take charge," he smirks, catching her eyes, "although I'll admit to being late. There is a far larger complication than I."

_"Do you have the cure or not?"_

"I have it, and I am bringing it back to Mystic Falls," he unlocks his car, opening the passenger door for Rebekah, "though you should be aware it now resides within our sister."

Elijah shuts the door and rounds to the driver's side, continuing before his Klaus can interrupt.

"You have six hours to throw a temper tantrum. I will have you calm when I arrive with our now human sister."

He hangs up and starts the car.

"How did you survive Damon's attempt to kill you?" He puts the car in gear and cruises down the street. "I am thrilled you are not dead, but I don't understand."

"Mother spent years attempting to bring out magic in me," she fastens her seatbelt, conscious suddenly of her own vulnerability, "turns out it just took fear for my life."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for taking the time to read and leave kudos. The amount of love for this Fic already is overwhelming. ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> There are so many ways I can take this story and so many avenues to explore for Elena, but i chose four events that stand out to her because they are the closest she feels to her humanity during her no humanity period.

One year, two hundred ninety-two days after vanishing from her former life Elena Gilbert wakes in the evening unsure what's roused her from a reasonably deep slumber.

Beyond her window she sees and hears the familiar chaos of Yaowerat. Chinatown sounds off in full swing; perfectly ordinary given the New Year. Over the last few weeks she's seen snakes with every step down the street.

The sound isn't what woke her. And it's not her companion, not if his annoyed groan is anything to go by.

"Make it stop." His sluggish voice reminds her of early mornings and rude alarms, of fumbling jerkily for snooze buttons and Jeremy's groans that curse Caroline for early dawn practices.

"You make it stop," she growls into her pillow, hand snaking back to shove his naked thigh.

The cool weight retreats to retrieve what she finally realizes is a phone. It takes him an age and a half after their afternoon activities that resulted in more blood loss then he had probably expected, but in her defence the blood had been better than the sex. And he'll live, even if he spends several days worn out from what he remembers to be a wild encounter with a tourist.

He answers the phone in his native tongue.

Silence echoes through the speaker, lasting the span of two heartbeats. Then she hears unmistakable menace in the man's cultured reply of four simple words that have her one time lover stammering an apology.

He drops what she recognizes as her phone and is out the door in hastily thrown on clothes before she can lift the device to her ear.

 _"Elena,"_ he greets, breathing her name in that way only he can seem to manage, somehow making each syllable roll over her spine and gather in a pulse of heat between her legs.

"You scared off my dinner." She rises from the bed, slips on a silk kimono and leaves the ends untied as she pads towards the bathroom.

 _"You shouldn't play with your food, Elena,"_ he sighs, _"that's how you choke."_

"But playing with my food is oh so fun," she replies breathily, pushing a pout into her voice. "You'd think my husband would indulge me in a little fun."

She perches on the lip of the tub and lets her knees fall open, mind wandering to the many sinful things she suspects he can do to her with just his tongue, knowing on an instinctual level that he is the dangerous type of man who takes his pleasure in giving.

"You'll have to help me out here, baby," she hums, manicured nails working silk across her skin in an imitation of a man's hand hiking the material higher. She can't stop herself. The combination of his rich voice and her unsatisfied carnal desires are doing wicked things to her body.

"I must have hit my head, or something, because I can't seem to remember marrying you."

 _"It pains me that you could forget such a lovely ceremony,"_ he sighs dramatically. She can see the gleam in his eyes. _"And then to learn of your sordid affair in a foreign country."_

"You're the one who told me to taste the local cuisine," she rolls her eyes. Her hand stills on her inner thigh, sensing the end of their banter that she might or might not have plans to replay later. "Why are you calling me Elijah? You haven't initiated contact since Willoughby."

They speak every other month when she rings him because 'I am an old man Elena. I cannot be bothered with email'. Which is complete bull; he conducts most of his business via email. She lets him have that one though, since he is making her continued lifestyle a possibility, even if she has to regale him with tales of her adventures between contact.

The last time he made first contact had been with a kiss never meant for her. She traces her bottom lip, remembering how he drew it into his mouth.

Stefan and Damon can learn a thing or two from Elijah.

_"I have some news."_

"And it couldn't have waited until next month's check in?" She frowns, examining her reflection in the mirror.

_"I'm afraid it's time sensitive."_

"Did Klaus figure out how to extract the cure without killing Rebekah?" She drawls, idly tracing the seam of her lips. "Is he coming after me?"

 _"No, nothing like that,"_ he clears his throat. _"It has come to my attention that Elizabeth Forbes passed two days ago. Her funeral is scheduled for Wednesday."_

Liz is dead?

Her mouth pops open. The woman raised Caroline, loved Caroline and did everything in her power to protect Caroline. She had been the only family Caroline had left.

"Why are you telling me?"

_"You know why."_

"A misguided attempt to turn my emotions on?" She raises an eyebrow.

_"She's your best friend Elena. I thought you should know."_

"You thought I should know?" She repeats in a hollow voice. "I'm done with Mystic Falls Elijah. I'm never going back."

_"I am aware of your stance, but can you honestly tell me you feel nothing for her? She has lost the last of her family, just like you."_

Pressure builds in her chest.

She swallows and blinks hard at her reflection before replying in her coldest voice.

"Goodbye, Elijah. I'll talk to you next month."

* * *

She checks her list for the millionth time, as if one more look will add another item. One more thing to do so she won't have to think, but every last 'to-do' is crossed out with a neat black line.

She checks again, blinking through the sharp sting of tears. She needs something else to do before grief consumes her.

Except everybody wants to do everything for her. The leftovers are stored. The caterers are paid.

The house has even been cleaned… to her standards.

Stupid vampire speed.

Her lungs constrict, squeezing tight.

Her eyes fall on the chair where her mom would sit every morning before work, drinking her coffee. She touches the table, immediately pulling back to spin toward her front door.

 _Something to do,_ she gasps, taking her time to walk towards the door.

A man stands on the porch, small envelope in hand. Her eyes flicker to the return label, attempting to decipher the characters.

"Caroline Forbes?" He asks, offering a tablet.

"I didn't order anything from Thailand," she shakes her head.

"I just deliver," he shrugs. "You gotta sign for it, miss."

"Uh… sure…" she scribbles a signature and took the package, gently shaking it as she shuts the door. Paper slides around inside.

She tears it open and peeks inside. A single sheet of paper, what looks like an airline ticket and something shiny are the sole contents. She extracts the page first, scanning the short message; she reads it through twice, eyes widening as she recognizes the handwriting.

_Most people send flowers, but they would have wilted long before arriving. I also know you. Right about now you're longing for a distraction, but if I get a whiff of Salvatore I'll disappear into the freaking aether._

_-Elena_

Caroline reads it a third time, and then a fourth before unfolding the plane ticket: first class to Bangkok; half a world away from where Stefan and Damon are currently looking.

She turns the package upside down, catching a burner phone as it slides out.

* * *

"You really should try this," Elena hums. She catches a portion of the soft shell crab papaya salad, indicating the dish's merit in a quiet moan. "It's delicious."

She pushes around the pad thai on her plate, twirling fried noodles with her chop sticks. Her appetite for actual food has dissipated, but she eats anyway; it gives her something to do.

"I'm not that hungry," she chews slowly to stall her meal. Every question she has can be answered over the course of dinner, but once her meal is done and her questions answered she has nothing left to focus on except the black hole creeping up her throat.

Maybe she'll order a salad too.

"You're eating," Elena raises an eyebrow.

"Gotta stave off those kill people urges."

"I'd think you have those well in hand by now, Care."

She leans back in her chair, crushing the red pillow near the base of her spine as she surveys Elena critically.

The brunette continues eating, making no comment on how Caroline's eyes narrow and skid over her face.

She appears normal enough. There is even a light in her eyes that wasn't there the last time they saw each other.

"Have you been here this whole time?"

"No." Elena takes a bite, chewing methodically. She swallows and sips her wine before elaborating. "I've been in Bangkok for the last month, Dubai before that. I surfed in Bali, visited the Forbidden City, and swam the coral reefs in Maldives."

"So you've been doing an Asian tour," she plays with her placemat, catching the edge on a chopstick.

Elena always used to talk about seeing the world one day; they had plans to backpack across Europe during college that they were supposed to attend together. And yet, Caroline is the only one to make it to Whitmore and she dropped out after the first year to deal with the mess the travelers made.

"Well, you had the plans for Europe," she shrugs and braces her elbows on the table. "I'm sure you've got a copy of them on your phone; we could go explore Paris. You did always want to climb the Eiffel Tower."

"Where exactly am I getting the funds for this?" Caroline snorts. "And while we're on the topic of money: how the hell did you afford a first class ticket at the last minute?"

"I made some investments on the advice of a friend," Elena examines the wine at the bottom of her glass.

"I didn't know you had friends anymore."

"Was that meant to hurt my feelings?" She smirks over the rim, sipping daintily.

"I had hoped it would, but clearly you still don't have any," she sighs, crossing her arms. "You haven't once asked how I am, or offered condolences."

"Would insincere condolences make you feel better?"

The darkness spreads further, almost to her tonsils. She swallows and shakes her head, not trusting herself to make words at that moment.

"Of course they wouldn't," Elena shakes her head. "Nothing's going to make you feel better because you can't see a path out of your grief."

"I just have to keep busy…" Caroline protests.

"For how long? You can't just push it down and never deal with it."

"You did," she murmurs, eyes widening.

"I didn't have a choice."

"You chose not to turn it back on."

"Can you blame me?" Elena lowers her glass and tilts her head. "My entire family is dead Caroline. I know exactly what you're feeling in this instance because I've felt it too. Nothing is ever going to be the same. You feel like you're alone in the world. You feel like if you give in to it, which you will, you'll never stop crying or find your way from the darkness. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, and nothing to guide your way."

Her nail taps the narrow stem, creating small ripples in the remaining wine.

"Can you really judge me for not wanting to dive headfirst into grief again?"

She waits in silence for a response, startling when she finally gets one.

"You're right, but you're also wrong."

Elena's eyes narrow.

"This…" her hand contorts into a claw and clutches at her throat, "… it's choking me. It's too fresh to deal with," the emotion in her eyes vanishes, leaving behind empty blue.

"Caroline?" Elena shifts, leaning across the table.

"I can't deal with it," she licks her bottom lip. "I'm not gonna deal with it."

The black hole goes away, trapped under the weight of the switch.

"At least not yet," she smiles. The expression would have rivalled the sun once. "Because you're wrong too; that stuff get's better. It has to. And I'll deal with it eventually."

"Really," Elena chews on her lip to keep from smirking. "When will that be?"

Caroline mulls it over a moment, nodding once she comes to a decision.

"One year."

"One year?" She repeats, raising skeptical brows. "You'll turn it on after a year?"

"That's what I said." She returns to her Pad Thai, finding the flavour pallet more to her liking.

"If this is a cry for help and you're out for someone to talk them back on then you're looking at the wrong person," Elena warns.

"You judging me Elena?"

"Not at all," she pushes her hair behind her ear, "I just don't think you'll turn it back on. You might be a neurotic control freak, but I know the allure of nothing."

"I will turn it on in one year," she insists in a monotone.

"Wanna bet?"

"You'll lose," she warns.

"I don't think I will."

Later that night, after Caroline crashes under the dual effects of blood and alcohol Elena slips into the bathroom.

She presses a few buttons on her phone and turns the taps, letting the tub slowly fill up with steaming water.

" _Elena?"_ He answers on the third ring in a rasping voice.

"Did you smoke a carton of cigarettes, or something?" She frowns at her reflection, keeping her voice low.

 _"Something…"_ he coughs and drinks something. It must be blood because his next question comes in a normal voice. _"To what do I owe the pleasure?"_

She stares at herself in the mirror, blindly pouring bubble bath in the tub.

"I… uh…" her heart thuds, "I might have fucked up."

_"Have you killed someone?"_

"Not intentionally," she swirls a hand in the water, mixing the bubbles around, "or directly."

_"I don't understand."_

"I… I may have - inadvertently - convinced Caroline to flip the switch…"

Silence comes through the other end. She counts the beats of her heart.

"She did it on her own," she kicks off her shoes, unable to handle the quiet, "but it might have been because of something I said."

_"Might?"_

"It was because of something I said," she amends.

_"I was under the impression you were done with Mystic Falls."_

"I am done with Mystic Falls," she snaps.

_"Yet you journeyed there to see Ms. Forbes."_

He sounds entirely too smug, and not at all concerned with Caroline's emotionless state, too hung up on the actions that led to their meeting.

"She came to me."

_"You still had to tell her where to find you."_

"Stop grinning."

_"How do you know I'm smiling?"_

"I can hear it in your voice. Were you not listening to the fact that Caroline feels nothing?"

_"Did I hear Caroline's name?"_

She clamps her lips together.

_"Who are you talking to about Caroline?"_

_"That is my business, Niklaus."_

_"She flipped the switch?"_

_"Don't act so surprised, brother; it was you, after all, who informed me of her mother's passing. Unlike us she had a healthy relationship with her parents."_

_"Why is someone calling you with this information?"_

"Who else was I gonna call?" Elena interrupts.

_"Who is that? Don't tell me you're in contact with Katerina again."_

"How rude," she glances over her shoulder, inspecting the water line.

_"Elena?"_

"Yes, now kindly butt out so we can finish our conversation."

 _"You've made him go fifteen shades of red,"_ Elijah chuckles. _"As for Ms. Forbes: are you certain she has abandoned her emotions? There is always the possibility that she is avoiding the issue."_

"She point blank told me. How exactly am I supposed to handle this situation?"

 _"Watch her,"_ he instructs. _"Ensure she doesn't kill anyone."_

"I'm supposed to babysit Caroline, now?"

_"Yes, and why are you whispering?"_

"Because she's asleep in my bed."

 _"Why is Caroline in your bed?"_ Klaus cuts in.

"Because we screwed like rabbits for hours and that last orgasm knocked her out cold," Elena drawls, rolling her eyes. Through the phone she hears Klaus choke and Elijah struggle to hide a laugh. "Seriously, Klaus, you need to chill. She drank her weight, plus both of yours in liquor. Why do I have to watch her?"

_"Because by your own admission her choice was your fault, and any deaths that occur from it will rest on your hands as well as hers."_

"Fine," she turns off the water.

_"I'll talk to you next month?"_

"Whatever."

* * *

"You want to explain that?" Klaus watches him tuck the phone into his filthy jacket, still covered in the ashes of their mother and aunt.

"Not particularly."

* * *

Minding Caroline turns out to be simple, at least after she makes it clear to her friend that she has no intention of trying to make her turn it back on.

Keeping Caroline out of trouble proves troublesome, to say the least; especially when the blonde decides to pick up the pieces of her shattered existence and carry on with her original plans. And, because Caroline without emotions is a dangerously neurotic control freak, Elena finds herself wheeling all of her worldly possessions into a Whitmore dorm room, already counting down the days until they leave again for Europe.

"Isn't that kind of cliche?" She swings her suitcase onto a narrow bed, watching as Caroline restrings a strand of twinkle lights.

"How else are you supposed to decorate a dorm?" Caroline asks. She considers the directionality of the lights before placing them along the ceiling with thumbtacks.

"I would have eighty-sixed the dorm, and gotten a fabulous apartment off campus." She goes through the motions of unpacking: hanging up dresses, filling drawers, and stashing her suitcase under the bed. "It's harder to bring someone home when that home is a shared bedroom."

"Slut," Caroline accuses, voice lacking any inflection.

Elena takes it as what passes for teasing among the emotionally challenged.

"I'm a woman. I have needs." She shelves a handful of textbooks and plugs in her laptop. "When's the last time you got any?"

"About a year and a half ago," she muses, head tilted to the side.

"That long?" Elena frowns. "If I went that long I think I'd have to take off my bracelet and go sunbathing. Let me guess: Tyler?"

"I broke up with Tyler before that. I slept with Klaus."

She says it so matter of factly that it takes a second for the full weight of shock to hit Elena, but when it does the air freezes in her lungs.

"You slept with Klaus?" Her eyes widen. She thinks it might be the closest she has come to displaying emotion in years. "Klaus? What… you went to New Orleans?"

"No." Caroline folds a pair of jeans, sets them in the drawer and reaches for another. "He came to Mystic Falls for some business and we bumped into each other in the woods."

"Business?" Elena perches on her narrow mattress, leans forward on her hands and blatantly ignores the actions of a teenage girl.

"Katherine showed up looking for you. Something about Elijah and compulsion, and wanting to kill you since she couldn't kill him." She moves on to a second drawer, filling it with meticulously folded pyjamas. "Klaus heard she was in town and came down — up? — to finally kill her; he didn't actually do it though."

"Too busy having sex with you?"

"He promised to leave and never come back if I told him what I really wanted, and what I really wanted was him. Original stamina is insane."

"I bet," she sighs, bordering close to wistful.

"You bet?" Caroline frowns. "You don't know?"

"How would I know?" She reaches behind her to fluff her pillows.

"I assumed you and Elijah slept together at some point," she shrugs.

"Me and Elijah?" Elena's brows shoot up. "Why would you think that?"

"Because of your deal," she perches on the side of the other bed. "That's not the kind of thing someone does for a passing acquaintance."

"I don't think I'd call what Elijah and I are passing acquaintances. We've always made deals… since day one."

"But this kind of deal," Caroline stretches out, folding her arms across her stomach, "it's not the kind of deal you make with an ally. He doesn't want you to kill anyone so your conscious is clear. He's protecting you because he cares about you."

With emotions she suspects Caroline's speech would possess more volume, probably some shaking and definitely profanity. Yet somehow, without, the words hold more meaning. They are more than words being used to break through her walls; they are honest observations.

"I guess I just assumed sex was part of that equation."

"It's not."

"Did it make you feel anything? Elijah's deal, I mean?" She blinks up at the ceiling.

"You know I can't feel anything," her eyes cut sideways.

"But if you could?" Caroline prompts, sitting up on her elbows. "How would it have made you feel if you could have felt in that moment?"

She toys with the tassels on a throw pillow for a second, considering the question she has thought on a few times during the last two years. She can't banish Elijah from her everyday thoughts like she can the Salvatores. He pops up in her head multiple times a day whenever the urge to feed takes hold, and then again at random moments that have nothing to do with the terms of their agreement.

Just when Caroline resigns herself to no answer she opens her mouth.

"Like at least one person thinks I can make my own choices."

* * *

A month into the fall semester Elena sits nursing a steaming cup of apple cider on a bench in the quad, watching the leaves spiral in colourful bursts of wind. Her mornings spent in classes proved interesting. Every day in classes proved interesting.

With the abandonment of her emotions she forgot how enjoyable learning could be, but now she's marked down several new places to explore when the semester ends.

Sometimes it surprises her, how easy it is to have fun without emotions. Sometimes she wonders if happiness is still possible, and how things would be if she could revel in the beauty of everything she sees.

But then she remembers everything that comes with the switch and always decides it isn't worth it.

Her phone interrupts the solitude. She sighs, sets down her drink and brings the device to her ear after checking the caller ID.

"Hey, Care."

_"Hi."_

There is something different about her voice; a weight not present when last they spoke. It takes her a second to grasp what she's hearing.

"Are you crying?" Her mouth pops open. "What happened to a year?"

More tears, choked sobs and shuffling feet. The steps sound too heavy to belong to the blonde. Finally she chokes out a single word. The name caused her spine to stiffen.

_"Stefan."_

"Did he hurt you?" Her muscles move of their own accord, lifting her from the bench. Distantly she hears the concerned undertones of her own voice.

_"I didn't hurt her Elena."_

Her heart thumps once and stops, starting up again. Stefan sounds tense, tired and hurt. The second voice belongs to Damon and makes her stomach clench.

_"He just read her a letter from her mom, but you… we're probably going to have to hurt."_

Before she can formulate a response two cracks sound in swift succession. Then Caroline's thick voice returns.

_"Run."_

She immediately races to the dorm room, interpreting the cracks as idiot one and idiot two taking an unplanned nap.

"Why did you do that?" She tosses her suitcase on the bed, braces the phone between shoulder and ear and starts throwing things inside haphazardly.

"Because…"

She pauses, spinning towards the door where Caroline stands. Mascara streaks down her cheeks, clinging in thick clumps to her lashes.

She hangs up the phone and stuffs it in her back pocket.

"Because what?"

She blinks hard, presses her lips together and meets Elena's cold gaze.

"It's different now." She takes a step into the room. "The whole situation with you has changed. I know you won't go on a killing spree to make a point."

"Because of my deal?"

"That," she swipes a hand over her cheek, leaves a black streak pointing towards her shoulder, "and because you're still you. You still feel something."

"Caroline…"

"No, I'm going to get this out, and you're gonna listen to me!" She snaps, appearing inches from Elena's face.

A beat passes before Elena nods once.

"You've let go of everything, but it's like Pandora and the box. Everything's gone except for a small, little voice."

"You think hope is inside of me, screaming to be let out?" Her brows lowers.

"No, it's not hope," she shakes her head emphatically, hands settling on her hips. "It's your compassion. It's still there — close to the switch — and one day you're gonna find your way back to yourself."

"You sound like Elijah."

"Maybe because he's right," she tosses up her hands. "You're gonna feel everything again Elena, I know it, but it can't happen because Stefan and Damon make you."

Caroline closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. Tears sting the back of her eyes and that yawning abyss beckons to swallow her whole, but before it can she has one last thing to do. One last item to strike through with a bold black line.

"You need to get there on your own."

"I'm never turning it back on Caroline." She shakes her head.

"You will." Caroline moves to help her pack.

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"You've got the compassion," Caroline pauses at the closet door and looks back over her shoulder, "but I've got the hope."


	3. Chapter 3

Elena promises to keep in touch with Caroline once a month alternating with her Elijah checkins — though not even she can come up with a good reason why.

Life goes back to normal after her foray into the college experience, at least for a month.

She spots the familiar blonde in a hazy bar in Morocco, nursing a drink and seemingly talking to thin air. A beat passes and a second woman appears: older, yet clearly related.

She catalogues the blonde's features and prepares to move along. Except the former Original sways on her feet and a group of five surrounds her.

Elena has gotten rather good at recognizing vampires by this point. These five are organized, led by a woman with snake eyes and closing in on her 'Thelma'.

Or is Rebekah 'Louise'?

A burly man grabs Rebekah beneath the arms, facing her towards the ring leader.

"Tristan would like a word with you."

"Piss off, Aya."

Under normal circumstances she might hesitate, but no emotions mean no fear of death. She plans to analyze that further at a later point.

She runs at full speed, using the element of surprise and a trick she once saw Elijah do to extract the hearts of three.

She lashes out with her foot, breaks off a length of chair leg and drives it through the fourth's back with bloody hands. Catching Rebekah as she stumbles.

The woman, Aya, lunges towards them only to be knocked back by an invisible barrier.

"When did you learn magic?" Elena rights the blonde. She has to place a steadying hand on her spine to counteract the liquor she's consumed.

"Your would be lover brought it out in me," Rebekah slurs, eyes unfocused.

She opens her mouth to ask if she should kill the other vampire, but when she looks up the woman is gone.

"Who was that?" She steers Rebekah outside to the crowded street, leaving the mess behind for the rest of the militant group to deal with, knowing on some level there are more of them.

"'Lijah's ex," she waves a hand in a vague motion.

Elena takes the direction of Algeciras to be Rebekah's approximation of New Orleans while under the influence of alcohol.

"And she was gonna take you to Tristan because…" She fishes, directing Rebekah to the left.

"Probably something to do with his sister," she giggles. Rebekah spins on her high heels, stumbles a bit and wraps her arms around Elena's neck. She speaks in a conspiratorial whisper that makes no attempt to be quiet. "When I took the cure it cured my whole bloodline."

Elena's hands settle on her hips, smearing red across her white top. She blinks, nose twisting under the assault of her breath. "And his sister's part of your bloodline?"

"Mmhmm," Rebekah nods.

"Do you want to turn around so we can actually walk?" She sighs when Rebekah pouts, but listens.

"Where are you taking me?"

Elena tries to lead the way, but winds up having to wrap her arm around Rebekah's waist to keep her upright.

"My hotel," she answers. "You need water, food and failing that sleep."

"I have to meet a witch." She shakes her head, but makes no move to pull away as Elena leads her quickly through a lobby towards an elevator.

She steps inside the already open doors, wipes her left hand on her shirt and pushes the button. Her eyes take in Rebekah's ruddy cheeks when the doors swing shut.

"You should probably be sober for that, and wearing clean clothes." She half drags Rebekah through the hall towards a door that she opens with the key in her pocket. "Why would you drink that much alone?"

"I wasn't alone," Rebekah yawns, collapsing on the couch Elena drops her at. Her eyes droop. "I was drinking with my sister."

She washes her hands of tacky blood and fills a glass with water in the little kitchenette, delivering it to the blonde.

"Something tells me she was drinking from a safe place," she curls Rebekah's unsteady hands around the glass. "Drink all of that."

"You care about my well being now?" She says before tipping up the glass and downing half the water in one go.

"Don't be ridiculous."

She reaches into her pocket, selects one of two contacts in her phone and waits for the call to connect.

_"Elena?"_

She can see the look of surprise on his face that her early call prompts.

"I've got your sister here, arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct."

"Nuh-uh," Rebekah pouts.

"Drink your water," she puts her fingers to the bottom of the glass, lifting it higher.

"Who are you talking to?" She pulls her arm away, spilling half the glass' contents down her shirt.

"Your brother." Elena takes back the glass, moves to the kitchen and refills it.

_"What exactly is going on? You're in Morocco."_

"Seemed like a nice first stop."

_"What happened to Whitmore?"_

"Salvatores showed up and made Caroline turn it on." She passes the full glass to a barefoot Rebekah. "Drink up and take off that shirt."

"Aw, I didn't know you felt that way about me," she slurs, attempting to smirk.

"Between the water and the blood you look like you've entered a wet t-shirt contest," she rolls her eyes. Rebekah starts giggling. "Elijah, I don't suppose you've got any tips on dealing with a drunken Rebekah."

_"I'm afraid she hasn't been truly drunk since the tenth century."_ His voice sounds amused.

Rebekah's ruined shirt hits the floor, leaving her in jeans and bra. "Can I go now?"

"You're half naked," she shakes her head.

"Elijah," Rebekah leans across the counter, voice turning to a whine, "she won't let me leave."

Elena puts the call on speaker.

_"What exactly would she like me to do about that?"_

"Make her let me go," she slurs.

_"I see you've put me on speaker. Rebekah, if you are that drunk you shouldn't be going anywhere."_

"I can handle myself." She pouts.

"Like you handled that situation with Aya and her goons?" Elena tilts her head. "Oh no, wait a minute, I did that."

_"Aya?"_ Confusion laces Elijah's tone.

"Yup," Rebekah nods as if her brother can actually see her. "Elena slo-slo-showed up out of thin air."

"I was in the bar," she clarifies.

"And she killed…" Rebekah holds up her hand, counting on her fingers, "… three… no four of the twix."

"Twix?" Elena echoes Elijah's voice.

"No… no…" Rebekah squints, searching for the right word. "The sticks."

_"Do you by chance mean the Strix sister?"_

"That's it," she claps.

_"Elena, kindly take me off speaker."_

"Do you two want to be alone?" Rebekah snickers, calling in a crooning voice. "That works better when you're in the same room."

"Why don't you go to my closet and pick out a shirt to wear?" She motions to the suite's joined bedroom while changing the phone.

_"You killed four people?"_

She watches Rebekah sashay into the other room, humming something unfamiliar under her breath.

"Yes, but I don't think it should count."

_"And why not?"_

"Because they were vampires…"

_"And vampires aren't people?"_

"That's not what I was going for. They were vampires attempting to kidnap your sister so they could take her to someone named Tristan."

Her head snaps up when she hears a thump. Rebekah's drunken humming continues after a second, accompanied by the swish of hangers.

_"How much did Rebekah drink?"_ He sighs, shuffling some papers. _"If it's half as much as Freya I wouldn't let her go anywhere until she's stone cold sober."_

"She was drinking when I got there, so I don't know, but I have no intention of letting her go anywhere until she's sober."

_"Good,"_ he pauses, and she can see him considering his next question in that careful way he always does. _"Did you really kill four members of the Strix?"_

"If that's what they're called then yes. Why?" She picks up the glass of water and moves towards the bedroom to inspect the sudden quiet. She finds Rebekah sprawled on top of her bed.

_"Because if Aya was targeting Rebekah she would have brought her oldest and most experienced fighters. In vampire years, you are little more than a toddler."_

"They didn't know I was there until I'd ripped out three hearts and driven a stake through the fourth." She lifts a blanket, covering the blonde to the chin. "Aya got away."

_"Aya is nearly nine centuries old. And she'll be coming for you now."_

* * *

In a sense Aya does come for her. Three days after she sees Rebekah onto a state bound flight with a spell to resurrect her lost brother.

Elena plans to be long gone before Rebekah accumulates the needed power to bring Kol back from the dead.

Aya cuts her off at the ferry; accompanied by a man in a suit. In her head she thinks of him as Elijah 2.0, but one look at him tells her he doesn't like to get his hands dirty.

"You're the one who killed four of my best fighters?" He appraises Elena, eyes raking over her from head to toe.

"Five against one didn't seem fair," she shrugs, adjusting her hold on the suitcase.

"Quite right." He hums once, nodding slowly. "It was hardly sporting."

"Are you here to kill me?" Her eyes flicker to Aya. The woman's jaw clenches tight.

"I would love nothing more than to slowly remove each of your organs before taking your heart."

"Now, now Aya," he holds out a hand, "where are your manners? Allow me to introduce myself: Lord Tristan de Martel."

He inclines his head.

"Is that meant to impress me?" Elena arches an eyebrow, pointedly ignoring the offered hand.

"There are many who fawn over the nobility." His charming smile tightens, creating the illusion of monster beneath his refined exterior.

Elena's dark hair whips across her face in the wind. She shifts her weight onto her heels, pushes the waving strands from her eyes and releases a bored sigh.

"Guess I'm not one of the many." Her case shifts, brushing against her calves. "Are going to kill me, or not?"

Her eyes flicker across the wharf, capturing the few hundred people moving beneath a clear blue sky.

"I'm thinking it's a no," she purse her lips, "at least not here, anyway. There are too many people to compel, not to mention the security cameras on the dock and ferry. Killing me would make a huge mess." She looks Tristan over slowly from coifed hair to shined shoes. "You're not the kind of guy who likes to make messes, and you're certainly not the type of guy to clean up after yourself."

"Too right, Miss Petrova."

"Gilbert," she corrects, automatically, with a small spark of anger in her chest that she tramps down fast.

"Miss Gilbert," Tristan nods. "We are not here to kill you. As much as Aya would love nothing more. I wish to recruit you."

Her eyes narrow.

"You are the latest doppelgänger, are you not?" Aya drawls, long fingers tapping against her thigh.

Elena nods, mute.

"As the newest doppelgänger you can't be much older than you look," she goes on, eyes gleaming. "So, it is true, I would love to rip you apart for your actions the other day, but I cannot deny you have potential."

Her eyes cut from Aya's rage to Tristan's calm.

"I've got potential?"

"You slaughtered four of my finest. The youngest one easily six times your age," she sneers.

"Five against one was hardly fair." The wind takes her hair, combing it away from her face.

"It is when the one is Rebekah Mikaelson."

"Cause it takes five vampires to handle one inebriated human," she rolls her eyes. Contempt comes easy.

Tristan cuts in before Aya can bite back a response.

"My organization is the oldest society of vampires in the world, Miss Gilbert. And at this moment in time we are intent on protecting the Mikaelson family."

Something in the way he says their names strikes her as odd, not right; it's the same sixth sense that whispers run in the back of her mind each time they say doppelgänger.

"Why? Nobody likes the Originals?"

"You clearly do," he arches an eyebrow. "Why else jump to dear Rebekah's aid?"

"Like I said, five on one wasn't fair." As she utters the words she has a hard time believing them.

Tristan picks up on it because the next words out of his mouth reference Rebekah, calmly assuring her that they had meant the blonde no harm. All the Strix plan to do is place the Originals somewhere nobody can ever reach in order to protect their sire lines. They assume that surely she wants to protect the Original at the head of her own bloodline.

To her ears the entire spiel sounds like propaganda.

"We could use someone like you, Miss Gilbert: smart, tenacious…"

_A doppelgänger?_

She looks between them. Watching eyes stay their hands from outright murder, but nothing can stop them from swiftly breaking her neck and carting her away under the guise of concerned friends saving her from heatstroke.

"Can I think about it?" She cuts Tristan off.

"I was rather hoping for an immediate answer," he frowns, lifting his chin.

"I'm sure you're used to woman throwing themselves at your feet," she smirks, hand on her hip, "but in my experience things always end badly for me when I rush headlong into something. I'd like to think about your offer and contact you later with an answer after I've had a chance to weigh the pros and cons. Do you have a card?"

"Do you realize the privilege of your current position?" Aya takes a menacing step forward. "You join, or die for your crimes."

"We can give her time to think it over Aya." Tristan extracts a sleek black card from his pocket; a silver owl blinks above a series of tiny numbers.

"If she gets on that ferry we'll never find her again."

"Of course we can," he places the business card in Elena's palm.

A quick smile is the only warning he gives before cutting into her flesh with his fingernail. As pain goes it's nothing compared to everything else she has endured, but she hisses all the same and tries to yank her arm away before he can press his handkerchief to the closing wound.

She nearly rips her shoulder from the socket and he gets the blood anyway.

"Should you fail to keep in touch, Miss Gilbert, then we shall find you." He tucks the bloody handkerchief in his pocket with a grimace, carefully folding it to protect the silk lining. "I should think a day is long enough for you to consider my offer."

They leave her alone on the dock, cradling her healed arm. She stares at the empty space they occupied until the ferry sounds it's warning and she has to rush onboard.

She makes it twenty minutes through the ride before she digs out her cell phone, clicks a few buttons and selects the recent addition to her contacts.

She raises the phone to her ear and crosses her fingers, hoping against hope for a delayed takeoff. Luck, as ever, appears to be on her side because the call connects on the sixth ring.

"It's me," she offers in lieu of standard greeting. "I'm calling on that favour."

* * *

The Strix never find her.

She manages to go nearly four months before hearing the name again from Elijah's lips. The call comes on the heels of one of the strangest sensations she has ever felt: like an umbilical cord being severed.

They failed in their mission, but they did manage to unlink Klaus' sire line.

Apparently things in New Orleans took a drastic turn for the worst after that.

She quickly resigns herself to the new situation, accepting — with a small twinge of disappointment — that she won't hear his voice for a while when Freya puts the family into an enchanted sleep.

As per their agreement she continues to call, leaving voice messages he swears to listen to upon waking.

She tells him about her time in the Netherlands, and the close call with Damon — still obsessively hunting her nearly three years later. She recounts her adventure in the Paris catacombs, but leaves out the swoop in her stomach when she stepped foot in Auschwitz; he would have read it and her swift exit the wrong way.

By the time she bumps into Hayley Marshall on her quest for werewolves she has grown bored of talking to the thin air of his answering machine. At least that is what she tells herself and him when she cuts off a young wolf's escape for Hayley.

Nearly five years of radio silence stretch out when he finally answers the phone. Making her heart thump loudly and causing her hand to drop the passport she has no intention of using to hunt down Hayley and help her wake the Mikaelson clan. She simply planned on destroying it and creating a new fake identity.

That is what she told herself.

She expects things to go back to normal after he wakes up, but two months later — at their regularly scheduled time — he fails to pick up the phone. She leaves a message and lets it go, ignoring the shake in her hands.

She lets it go for a further ten months until she steps into a book shop in San Miguel.

* * *

She clenches her hands in her pockets, grits her teeth and wills her feet to spin around. She has no business being in the shop, no business hunting down a local witch and no business butting into his business.

So what if he ignores her calls?

He's probably grown tired of talking to her. She can finally stop checking in and nothing bad will happen. Nobody will hunt her down.

He doesn't care.

Obviously he doesn't care anymore.

There is no need to get worked up over a weight in her stomach or a lump in her throat. She doesn't care what he does with his life, and he clearly doesn't care how she spends hers.

Yet her feet are rooted in place.

And her eyes, her stupid eyes that see everything, are locked on a man several feet away as he examines a book.

A haphazard, collage of a plan takes shape in her mind and her feet move before her brain can finish screaming 'no-danger-get-out-of-here-you-idiot'.

She still doesn't care, but she has somewhat a sense of self-preservation.

It just goes quiet sometimes, especially when it shouldn't. Like in the presence of Originals.

"Kol." She holds her hands behind her back: casual, calm and careless.

His head snaps up, catching what low lighting and incense masked until that moment. His dark eyes flash dangerously. And his voice rises in a rumbling growl

"Have you got a bloody death wish?"

"No," she drawls, adopting what she thinks to be a pretty decent impersonation of his accent, "I've got a bloody question."

"And you expect me to answer whatever question you've got?" He re-shelves his book with practiced care.

"Mmhmm," she nods, eyes drooping. "It's the least you can do after I helped Rebekah get the spell that brought you back."

"Really?" His hand curls around the shelf.

A simple flick of his wrist and a splintered hunk of wood will rest in his palm, primed and ready to pierce her heart.

Elena stands her ground, intent on getting an answer from as close to the horse's mouth as she can get.

"I could easily argue that aiding my sister was the least you could do after pointlessly murdering me."

"Hardly pointless," she leans on the shelf. "You came back and Rebekah got the one thing she's always wanted. Plus: I'm not the one who killed you."

"Your brother remains dead, and you are equally culpable."

Her eyes flicker to the sound of splintering wood, quiet to human ears. She ignores it. Kol needs no weapon to end her life.

He is the weapon.

"One question." She lifts her chin, ignoring the small shiver at the base of her spine. "One question and I'll leave; you'll never have to see me again."

"Or I could rip out your heart and never have to see you again." His hand shoots out, lifting her chin.

To an observer she suspects they look like a pair of lovers. Onlookers can only see his deceptively charming smile and fingers on her skin. They can't hear the menace in his voice or feel the bone bruising grip he keeps on her jaw.

She asks her question, working her jaw against the pain.

"Why isn't Elijah answering my calls?"

His eyes widen, grip slackening.

She reaches for his wrist, pulling his hand away from her face.

"Why would he answer your calls?" He counters, brows lowered.

She weighs the merits of honesty and throws caution to the wind.

"He and I have an agreement. I call in every two months to chat — you know, ensure I'm not running about on some murder spree — and he keeps the Salvatores off my back."

"And how did that work while we were all wasting away in coffins? Should that not have been the end of your deal?"

"It wasn't." Elena shrugs, turns towards the shelf and lets her fingers ghost across the titles. "Could you just answer my question?" Her eyes cut sideways to him. "I haven't spoken to him in almost a year. He at least warned my when you were all going to 'sleep'."

He is silent for a moment. She waits as long as she can but eventually she can't stop her feet from spinning back around to face him. She finds a strange light in his eyes.

"You're worried about him."

"I am not," she scoffs.

"You are," he insists. A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. "I heard you shut it off. Rebekah told me all about your little road trip."

"Then you know I don't feel anything." Pressure builds in her chest.

"You can keep saying that, but it's been what — ten years? Your emotions are trickling back in, darling."

She closes the foot of space, stands on her tiptoes and presses a finger to his heart.

"I feel nothing."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he snickers.

"I protest just enough," she clicks her tongue.

"Keep telling yourself that, love," he breaths.

Her eyes narrow, but before she can insist he answer once more a feminine voice breaks through their bubble.

"Kol?"

A girl comes around the shelf: short, brunette and looking very much like a porcelain doll. A doll that can cut you if she breaks.

"Who's this?" Her blue eyes flash.

"Davina, darling," he smiles, making no move to step away, "this is Elena Gilbert: a rather foolish young vampire with a death wish."

"Please," she scoffs, falling back on her feet, "if you were going to kill me you'd have done it already."

"Elena?" Davina tilts her head. She repeats the name again with distant eyes. "I know that name… Elijah used to talk to an Elena on the phone."

"Religiously," she nods, smirking. "Perhaps you can tell me why he's not answering my calls."

"He probably doesn't remember who you are," she shrugs. "Plus, I think he left his phone in New Orleans."

"Davina!"

"What?" She shrugs again.

"What do you mean he forgot who I am? How could he forget that? Vampires aren't exactly prone to amnesia." Elena turns towards the helpful girl.

"No, but under the right circumstances they can be compelled. It takes magic and an upgraded Original vampire, but it can happen."

"Compelled?" Her jaw drops. "Somebody compelled him? Why?"

Kol's hand cup her elbow, the touch a summer breeze compared to his last one. His voice drops to a gentle tone washing over her like waves, but waves have the power to drown.

"It was his choice Elena. We each took a piece of a malignant spirit to protect Hope. Elijah feared he would ruin everything by running to Nik at the first sign he was in trouble. He elected to forget everything, including himself."

She shakes her head, trembling from head to foot. Kol's hand absorbs the motions. "He would have told me."

"Things were hectic at the time," Davina steps towards her. "He probably didn't get a chance to call."

She listens to their quiet explanations, hearing the words that will register much later from deep under water. They tell her about the Hollow, and Hope and everything.

Days later she will admit to herself that the whole situation was very 'Elijah', but right then it's all she can manage to draw air into her burning lungs.

She needs to escape the crashing waves and surface for fresh air because each breath in their presence feels like water, so she yanks her arm free with an ease that should have shocked her and flees the bookstore in a whirl of paper.


	4. Chapter 4

His eyes flicker, focus shifting from the oak in his hands, so similar to the piece Niklaus holds and yet different in the only way that counts.

The small voice murmurs in the back of his aching head, spreading pain through his bloodstream. It tells him to fight back, take the wood from his brother and drive it through the hybrid's heart, live out his remaining eternity as her vessel.

Only then will the pain stop.

It hopes to control him through pain and rage, whispers all the ways his brother has earned a true death.

His eyes gleam.

It starts to scream at him when he doesn't listen, realizing too late that his guilt far outweighs his anger.

He deserves death, and any pain the bitch can bring before hand.

He is a failure. He failed to protect his family. His decision to leave his past behind directly led to the death of Hayley no matter what his family says to the contrary.

And he failed her.

She hasn't called in years. He knows what that means. When she couldn't get through to him she believed the worst of him. A pile of bodies must lie under her now.

He is a failure, and he deserves what's coming.

And Niklaus… he has his shortcomings and many failings, but he is his little brother and he will protect his family until his dying breath.

He will.

He almost smiles at the thought.

Niklaus will hate him for a time.

He's alright with that though because it means his brother will live to hate him, and his niece will keep the one parent she has left.

All he has to do is depend on his brother's ability and willingness to end his life.

His gaze glides over his siblings as they depart the room. His human sisters will last decades, as witches a century at most, while Kol lives on, watching first the loss of his sisters and later his wife. He knows Davina will never turn, no matter how much she loves him; his baby brother will be alone.

He might last a century before grief and loneliness drive him to the man he once was.

His eyes settle on the wood in his hand. He thinks on the letter he left, his final apology, and depends on Caroline Forbes to deliver it. He is almost sorry for involving her, certainly apologetic for dragging her daughters into the deception, but it had to be done.

They will all be better off for it.

Even if they never forgive him.

"What if there's nothing after this?"

He lifts his gaze, focus on his brother's vacant gaze.

"No peace, just… darkness."

"We face it together." He swallows thickly, forces the lie to leave his tongue, depending on his brother's preoccupation with certain death to conceal his deception. Standing from the bench he turns and manages a smile. "As always."

Niklaus rises too, voice quiet and filled with a self-reflection that has been all to rare these last thousand years.

"I don't deserve the love you've given me brother, but I am so grateful." He places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

It's all he can do to choke out the words.

"It's been a glorious ride Niklaus." The true words are among the most painful he has ever uttered. "And my greatest honour."

He lifts the stake a second after his younger brother, aims it as his heart and takes a deep breath. He inhales his final breath, breathing in the rising scent of the Mississippi River that will carry his ashes out to sea.

Words tie his tongue: the apology he dares not speak.

He clenches his teeth, ready for the burning pain, and blinks once: bracing for it.

It never comes.

Instead he feels a rush of wind that tears his brother from his arms.

A strangled yell is swallowed by a resounding splash.

He opens his eyes.

A woman stands in front of him. Brown curls sway around her leather collar. Her manicured nails dip into the bag at her hip, pulling out a small jar in the time it takes Niklaus to climb from the water.

"Elena?" He exhales.

She faces the jar toward him and lifts the lid, eyes finding his.

The voice in the back of his mind turns to a deafening shriek. He drops the wood and clutches his head, falling to his knees with a cry of pain. Claws dig in, piercing every organ, snagging every vein; they pull and scrape, cutting his insides to ribbons. Each one flows in Elena's direction.

He sees the blue glow behind his closed eyes and catches the indecipherable burr of Niklaus.

All at once the pain ceases and he collapses on his side, managing to open his eyes in time to watch the blue aura of the Hollow struggle against an unseen force.

It loses to the container in Elena's hands.

She slams the lid down and looks at him, releasing a shaking breath as she does.

He relaxes against the pavement, letting his body heal.

Elena's bottom lip trembles.

"You're still an idiot."

"What the bloody hell did you do that for?" Niklaus growls, standing at her hip. Water sprays from his hands when he gestures, beading on Elena's cheeks and jacket. "That light looked like the Hollow."

She presses her fingers tight to the stone lid, nails cracking under the pressure and knuckles turning white. Her bones are on the verge of breaking; she hears the hairline fractures snap in the unnatural silence of the New Orleans street.

Her dark eyes find his when he rises to his feet, swaying. Niklaus lunges forward, momentarily forgetting his rage and confusion to catch him before he falls. He feels weak, weaker even than when she woke him in the Salvatore basement all those years ago.

"Ask Elijah," she shrugs her left shoulder.

Behind her fingers lights dance along the jars seam in a myriad of colours and distant voices murmur wistfully in forgotten languages that merge into an otherworldly sound unheard by human ears.

"Brother?" Niklaus' eyes narrow, flickering from Elena to him. Suspicion sours his expression.

"Caroline?" He directs the question towards Elena, unsure whether he is surprised or unsurprised when she nods.

"What has Caroline to do with this?"

He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and braces. Standing on his own, he faces his brother head on.

"Before the twins siphoned the Hollow from Hope I went approached Miss. Forbes with an alternate plan; she was to explain it to you once you awakened."

"Once I awakened?" He repeats in a hollow tone.

"That's not white oak," Elena toes the stake on the ground and inclines her head to the wood still in Niklaus' hand. "That one is."

He lifts the deadly weapon and turns it end over end, catching splinters with his thumb. He breathes in a forced breath, exhaling slowly as he lifts his eyes from the stake.

"It was never in me."

He shakes his head.

And then, predictably, Niklaus explodes — shoving him hard. He stumbles back into the bench.

"What the hell were you thinking?" His face shifts, turning red.

"I couldn't let you die."

"But you would have me live with your death on my hands?" His eyes gleam.

"It would have been a pointless death at that," Elena murmurs, tracing the painted sides of the jar.

"Why do you suddenly care?" Niklaus rounds on her.

"I've seen enough pointless deaths." She stands tall, as she has since Willoughby, but he notices a small tremor in her stance and hears it in the shallow breath she inhales. "And it's hardly sudden."

She reads the confused expressions in an instant — mirrors back one of her own. Her brows lower, a line puckers and her eyes cloud.

He feels like he's back in that brick lined alley.

"Kol didn't tell you?" She releases a soft laugh and shakes her head. "Of course he didn't."

"Tell us what?"

He moves to stand in front of his brother, faces Elena and searches her eyes, finding a mixture of emotion swirling in the depths of her gaze.

"You've embraced your humanity," unbidden, his fingers skim her shoulder and brush a wayward curl from her face, "and Kol knew."

Her eyes fall to his hand, ghosting beneath her chin.

"Suspected," she swallows, breathing in his scent, "at the least."

"Do you two wish to be alone?"

Elijah hears the sneer in his brother's tone, but ignores it in favour of the soft breaths she draws in and out.

* * *

Caroline nurses a glass of Rousseau's finest bourbon and watches the clock. Elijah's letter burns a hole in her jacket pocket. She doesn't want to be the one to deliver it, so she drinks and she prays to a deity she's not sure she believes in anymore, not after everything she's seen and done.

She has been expecting him from the moment she sat down, knowing she will be his first stop when he comes to. She wants to believe it's because of epic promises for eternity and last loves — and on some level it will be — but she is certain the immediate reason will be her involvement in the entire charade.

She expects him to find her.

She does not expect him to drip muddy river water all over the floor when he joins her at the bar.

She has to believe soaking wet is better than bone dry and covered in ashes; unless he couldn't handle the truth of the situation and used the Mississippi to wash the evidence from his clothes.

Her knuckles turn white on the glass.

"You broke our agreement." His voice rises above the patrons.

She swallows a mouthful of liquor, relishing the burn.

"Elijah proposed a better idea," she murmurs, tone low.

"And Elena?"

She stares at the bottom of her glass, searching the amber liquid for the right words. Half the fun of her relationship with Klaus comes from bickering like an old married couple.

"She came in out of nowhere and dragged the Hollow out of him?"

She can think of a dozen answers that will launch them back into familiar patterns, but she's tired and relieved.

"I don't want to fight." The glass thunks against the bar.

"Caroline…"

"No," she snaps, spinning on her stool to face him. Water plasters his hair to his brow. "I get that you're pissed at me, alright? I get it. You wanted the Hollow one place and I had my daughters put it in another, but if you're looking for an apology you can keep looking because you won't get one from me."

She signals the bartender for another drink, almost missing his quiet question.

"Why did you do it?"

Her racing heart slows down. Again there are many words she could say to fall backwards into their old ways, but she finds the truth leaving her tongue; she's tired of fighting it.

"I couldn't let you die." She wants to meet his eyes, but knows if she does she'll blush; maybe even spontaneously combust. Combustion is always a bad idea around alcohol, so she blinks at her glass and manages to look at him through the corner of her eyes once. "You made me some promises and I intend to collect."

His fingers catch her chin and she goes, magnetized, when he urges her around. The kiss he brushes across her lips is soft, featherlight and heavy at once with every promise he's ever laid at her feet.

Her warm breath fans across his chin when he pulls back, leaving a scant inch between them.

"How'd Hope take it?" She flattens a hand across his chest, feeling the moment his heart skips. Her eyes flicker up. "You haven't seen her yet?"

He shakes his head. "She'll be asleep now."

She wants to frown, but can't help a laugh. His daughter is so very different than the rest of her family. She suspects they slept like babies after Mikael and Esther's demise, and that the Originals are too old to remember the feeling of loss when a loving parent passes.

"She's not asleep," her small smile comes easy, "trust me; she's not asleep."

* * *

Elena's stomach trembles as she sits on the bench, awaiting the line of questions. There have to be a thousand tumbling around in his mind. She wonders which route he plans to take.

"Pointless?" He finally says, hands on his knees.

She traces the edges of the jar with her hands, nods once and meets his eyes. Her years without emotion urge her to say the first thing that comes to her mind and call him an idiot again because he has been acting like one.

"You've lived a thousand years," she says instead, "did you really think killing yourself to get rid of a _parasitic spirit_ was gonna work? It would have found a new host and you'd just be dead."

It's the nicest way she can think to call him stupid without actually saying the word.

"I found myself short on options, Elena."

"Come on, Elijah," she groans, eyes slipping shut, "you're smarter than that. Please tell me this was Klaus' plan and you just piggybacked off it."

"It seemed like a solid plan," he argues, tilting his head.

"Not even you believe that," she scoffs, "or did you forget I can hear your heart beat too?"

He pulls in a breath and exhales slowly.

"My death, with the hollow inside me, would have weakened it enough for Hope to live out her life."

"And then what?" She shifts, knee brushing his thigh. "It's free to terrorize the world again, possessing Hope if she transitions or one of her children if she doesn't. I've done my research Elijah, you can't kill these types of spirits."

"You've done research?" He arches a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. "And may I ask what prompted your research?"

Her cheeks warm.

"How did you learn of the Hollow's existence at all?"

"Kol told me." She swallows, tongue poking out to whet her lip. "When you stopped answering my calls I went looking for you and I found him."

"Kol told you?" Disbelief colours his tone.

"Technically Davina told me. Kol explained more after she did. I turned it on that day." Her fingers drum across the lid of the jar. "And since I wasn't encumbered by a piece of the Hollow I've spent the years since figuring out how to get it out of you."

She senses his curious gaze, continuing before he can open his mouth.

"Do you know the story of Pandora?" Her nail catches in a groove.

"The Greek Myth?" He frowns, staring at the jar on her lap. "Pandora was the wife of Epimetheus — a gift from the gods as punishment for Prometheus stealing fire for mankind. The gods gave her a box that was filled with gifts and she was never to open. Her curiosity got the better of her and she unleashed illness and hardship upon the world, but slammed the lid closed, trapping hope inside."

"It's funny how myths are based on reality." Elena held the jars handles.

"Are you telling me the story is true?" He chuckles, watching her carefully.

"In a way," she shrugs, fingers dancing across faded paintings. "Pandora was a child: the youngest daughter of two powerful witches. From the time she could walk she knew not to touch the pithos her family kept near the hearth, but she didn't know why. Kids are curious, ya know?" She taps the jar once. "One day, when her family was outside, she got closer than she had ever been and heard the voices whispering inside, begging to be released. They whispered pleas for freedom, telling her to lift the lid, so she did."

She places her palm on the jar lid with a sigh.

"Only she didn't release misfortunes from the gods. She released demons and monsters her family trapped inside." She lifts her gaze to his. "The box was never a gift; it was always a prison. Created by witches to hold the worst of the worst. This," she inclines the jar in his direction, "is that box."

"A magical prison wielded by a vampire?" He raises an eyebrow.

"The witches who made it were gypsies," she clicks her heel against the pavement. "And travellers don't care what species you are: once a traveller, always a traveller."

They lapse into silence, listening to the river rush by at their backs and holding each other's gaze for a long moment.

Elijah broke the quiet with a murmured question.

"Why did you go looking for answers? The Salvatore's were off your trail. You were beholden to nobody."

She draws her bottom lip between her teeth.

"You were free of our deal… of me."

"Must I say it?" She chews on her bottom lip as her stomach twists in knots. It's not the time or place for the conversation; he planned on committing suicide not an hour earlier, but she doubts anywhere will be the time or place.

"Say what Elena?"

The words stick in her throat. She carefully places the jar in her bag and shifts, utilizing every ounce of supernatural speed she has gained once it's safe.

Her hand settles on his jaw as she kisses him, swallowing the sweet sound of her name where it drips from his tongue and convincing herself that the rejection will somehow feel less mortifying when he inevitably pushes her away and explains in that way he has that she's overstepped.

Except he doesn't push her away.

He tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls her closer, free hand sliding to the small of her back and dipping under the hem of her jacket to warm her spine.

The kiss is hungrier than the last, or maybe it just feels that way now that she can feel. And feel it she does — all the way down to her toes.

She pulls away first — only an inch. He follows and she smiles, breathless, holding him back just enough so she can hold his heavy gaze.

"I don't want to be free of you."


End file.
